


because...

by silverkatana



Category: H.O.T. (Band), SECHSKIES (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-11-14 07:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18048431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverkatana/pseuds/silverkatana
Summary: (i'm in love with you.)





	1. eight years

 

Over half a decade went by too quickly to count.

 

Jaeduck wonders how he managed to survive all those years trapped in a constant equilibrium of heartbreak and affection.

 

Agreeing to live with An Seungho, his former rival, his military companion, and his closest friend has become both his best and worst decision; a catalyst for the rock-steady growth of their relationship, from endearingly awkward friends to close to inseparable confidants, and also the main reason for Jaeduck figuring out other feelings that lay in some more intricate part of his heart that he didn’t necessarily  _ want _ to know about.

 

Jaeduck stands at the kitchen countertop of his -  _ their _ \- house, swirling the remnants of his morning coffee around and around the base of the chipped white mug. The house is silent, with Seungho out for one of his schedules and the dogs taking naps in various places of the house after their morning walk; it has been eight years since they moved in together, and each ‘anniversary’ of theirs never fails to cause thoughts and memories both that he has kept lying dormant at the back of his mind to resurface, wanted or not.

 

He remembers the first time he moved in, much to the surprise (and occasional shock-slash-horror) from H.O.T and Sechskies fans who had previously been diehard rivals of one another, and to the disapproving hums from both families (“How can you get married when you’re living with another guy?”) as well as the teasing and light-hearted banter from their respective groupmates, alongside the half-joking half-serious chimes of ‘traitor’ courtesy of Jaijin.

 

“Why the hell are you moving with him?” Jiwon had asked him a couple of days after he moved in, a mix of confused bemusement plastered across his rather disgruntled expression, and Jaeduck had laughed at the bewilderment in both his features and his tone.

 

“Because he’s a close friend of mine,” he had chosen to reply then with a simple shrug, and Jiwon had eventually given up and accepted that they would be roommates after watching Jaeduck unpack all his boxes into his new bedroom.

 

Two years later. “When are you gonna move out? You’re never going to find a girlfriend like this!” his younger sister had teased him, and he knew she was trying to play it off jokingly, but he could still hear the mild concern in her voice.

 

“Don’t worry,” he had responded as cheerfully as he could muster, ruffling her hair like he did when they were still kids running around the Busan countryside at eight, “Seungho-hyung isn’t affecting my ability to get myself into a relationship or anything. I just haven’t gone on dates because I’ve been busy.”

 

“Why him?” she had sighed resignedly.

 

A smile had crept onto his face at the way even she gave up on the notion of him moving out. “Because he’s a precious friend of mine,” he had answered with a slight chuckle at the end.

 

Five years, and Seungho had landed himself in a relationship with a pretty and kind girl, a fact well-known to his relatives, friends, and by extension, Jaeduck’s friends. “So what’re you going to do if he gets married?” Suwon had asked casually over dinner, biting into a piece of chicken as if he didn’t see the way Jaeduck almost choked on his drink at the question. “I mean, what if he wants to get serious with his relationship but can’t because you’re around? Thinking about moving out?”

 

“Don’t worry,” Jaeduck had replied nonchalantly, hoping that Suwon could not hear the dismal gloom present in the undertones of his response, “Because me being there won’t really affect what Seungho-hyung chooses to do. If he does get married, he’d probably move to a nicer house, anyway.”

 

Six years. Jaeduck’s sister pestered him to move out and find a nice girl quicker, Suwon brought up Jaeduck affecting Seungho’s relationships again, Jiwon and Heejun bonded further over conspiring to split Jaeduck and Seungho up into two separate houses. Jaeduck ignored them. Seungho and his girlfriend broke up. Jaeduck felt happy. And then he felt all horrible and guilty for rejoicing over Seungho’s pain. It wasn’t that he was glad over Seungho’s pain, really, more so glad that their relationship had come to an end. It was still a pretty horrible thing to do, though, and he proceeded to feel terrible every time he spoke to Seungho for about a month after.

 

Eight years brings him to now, staring blankly at his coffee that’s gone cold and reminiscing everything that has transpired in the past eight years. There are memories that he’d rather keep hidden away, the same memories that remain stubbornly burned into his brain deeper than any other thing he’d rather remember, and he sighs as he downs the rest of his coffee which doesn’t help to drown away the unwanted memories that sear through him and sour the taste of coffee on his tongue.

 

He still remembers the first girl that Seungho brought home, five years ago, pretty with long legs and a gorgeous smile. He remembers opening the door all bleary and exhausted after working in the studio with Suwon, and promptly dropping his bag to the floor upon entering the house before exiting right after without looking back.

 

Seungho didn’t bring anyone back after that. But he saw the girls he hung out with afterwards, all pretty and charming in a nondescript way, going on meals and drives in the car with him long enough to be dating but never lasting long enough to become a girlfriend, except for one. Sitting in the same car that they sat in became a rather bitter spectacle for Jaeduck afterwards, although he’s managed to hide it well from Seungho for all those years.

 

He knew he shouldn’t have felt like that - he knows he shouldn’t be feeling like this still - yet it stings to know that he - they - would never be anything  _ more _ . A selfish desire of his, he knows, a fragment of wishful thinking that he knows will never amount to anything, but it doesn’t ease the unease that settles itself in the corners of his heart.

 

He’ll always be Seungho’s closest friend. His sole confidant. The one who holds all of his secrets and protects his vulnerabilities and pieces him back together when he falls apart all at once.

 

He should be happy.

 

_ But I’m not. _

 

And he’s terrified at the revelation.

 

He should be happy.

 

He wants to be happy.

 

But how could he be happy if his heart is falling apart piece by piece at the exact same time that he is piecing Seungho back fragment after fragment? How could be happy if he is breaking apart every time that Seungho looks at him unbroken, because the light in Seungho’s eyes that reflect his dark gaze only shows him too clearly where he stands in the corners of Seungho’s heart; as a friend, as his closest friend, as his most trusted person?

 

How can he be happy as a friend when he wants, when he’s wanted for year after year, to be more than just that?

 

It is a selfish desire of his, and it both sickens and frightens him.

 

_ Because I want to be something more, and I know that we cannot. _

 

“Why are you so good to me?” Seungho had asked him one day in a moment of fragility, voice strained and barely above a breath as they sat sipping at deep red wine in their clear glasses when the sky was dark and the world was quiet around them.

 

“Because that’s what friends are for,” he had answered, watching as Seungho’s eyes regained the glow that had dimmed away with the fading light of the night, watching as his lips began to curve upwards in the telltale hints of his shy smile, and that night he had wondered why the words that left his tongue tasted so bitter even though they made Seungho smile as though he had listened to the sweetest of compliments. 

 

He still remembers all of the moments that they shared together.

 

One-fifteen in the morning, when it was all dark outside with street-lamps dimmed orange and sidewalks cleared of pedestrians, roads dark grey with the recent drizzle of rain and empty aside from the occasional vehicle - he still remembers the day they sat in the comfort of one another’s presence, and Seungho had asked him then, a mixture of his conscience and the alcohol they had drunk speaking.

 

“Why haven’t you left me yet?”

 

Jaeduck had fallen silent then. It was a question that pricked at him, that brought back every word from every acquaintance or friend or family of his telling him to pack up his things and find a separate apartment to move into, and he found himself holding his tongue until Seungho had succumbed to the insistent tugs of alcohol-induced drowsiness and fell asleep curled along the edge of the sofa.

 

Only then did Jaeduck respond as he always did, gently and softly as he tossed a blanket over Seungho’s unconscious form and shifted him so that he would not roll off the sofa. “Because I love you,” he had whispered then, with only the haunting silence of the night bearing witness to his strained confession, and all he did - all he could have done - was to smile sadly at Seungho, resting peacefully unaware of his fragile mess of feelings before heading to his own bedroom to let the pain of reality fade away in the calm surrender of nightmares.

 

He’s never heard Seungho say it back. (Of course not, he doesn’t even know.)

 

Nor does he ever expect to.

 

Jaeduck sighs, a sudden bout of weariness creeping up upon him despite the cup of coffee he’s only just finished, and turns to smile half-heartedly at Alexanduck who pads up to him after having awoken from a short nap. “What do I do now?” he queries quietly. 

 

He doesn’t quite know what it is that drives him to the decision that he ends up making that day, on the eighth anniversary of their moving in together.

 

Perhaps it’s the ugly twist of envy and despondency that he feels Seungho with any girl lucky enough to date him (Jaeduck is always the very first one to know about her, of all of them, even if he never wanted to know and even if Seungho never went into the details, before all the rest of Seungho’s close friends can) coupled with the sense of horrified disgust at himself for feeling that way. Perhaps it’s all the chidings from his friends and family who are trying to gently drive him away from Seungho’s residence that is beginning to make sense in his brain. Perhaps it’s the way he’s terrified out of his mind that one day he’d accidentally let it slip, the feelings he’s hidden away so well for so many years, and that he’d ruin everything he’s ever built with Seungho, that the eight years of everything would be reduced to nothing because of nothing, that he’d ruin their friendship that he both loves and detests so deeply, that everything would be gone all because of him.

 

Perhaps it was all of it.

 

But as he places his chipped white mug in the sink and sinks into the nearby chair with a harrowed expression written across his features, he comes to his final decision.

 

It’s time to do what he should have all those years ago when his younger sister first advised him to.

 

He should have done it two years ago, before he fell too hard and before he realised he even fell.

 

His loyalty kept him rooted, and his fear drove him mute, and their friendship is what made him stay.

 

Eight years of his life.

 

And now it is his love that makes him leave.

 

To pack up his things and leave, move away to a different apartment building with different walls and cleaner kitchens and less spacious bedrooms because he doesn’t need that much space and floors he isn’t used to and empty air that lies thick all around when Seungho isn’t there anymore.

 

To go without looking back, to say goodbye to Seungho with a bright smile pasted across his face as if nothing in the world is wrong even if it’s all impossibly wrong, to tell his friends and family that he finally moved out and that it was the best decision of his and Seungho’s lives.

  
To leave behind these eight years of memory, of yearning, and of love.


	2. home is where he is

“I’m moving out.”

 

He never really planned when was the appropriate time to reveal his plans - he ends up revealing it over dinner when they’re seated at the table eating fried chicken that Seungho ordered.

 

Seungho freezes mid-bite.

 

“I didn’t mean to tell you so suddenly,” Jaeduck blurts out apologetically, a sheepish blush rising pale rose-pink on his cheeks as he ignores the pounding of his heart in his ears, “Sorry. I just…”

 

“Why?” Seungho asks, cutting him off halfway through his helpless attempt at explaining, “I mean - it’s been eight years. Today, to be precise.”

 

Jaeduck deflates, exhaling unsteadily through his mouth. “Oh. You remembered…”

 

Seungho tilts his head, looking utterly confused and perplexed and panicked all at once. “Of course I did. I always do.”

 

He picks at the piece of chicken in front of him, falling silent. 

 

“So,” Seungho clears his throat, “Why exactly are you leaving?”

 

_ Well, shit, I guess. _

 

“Because… I just thought it’d be good to move out, I guess,” he responds with a feigned laugh that sounds either nervous or casual, and for both of their sakes he prays it’s the latter, “You know, everyone’s been talking about how staying together is preventing us from getting married and all, and maybe they’re right. With me gone, you can bring your girlfriend home more easily, right?”

 

He promptly shuts up before he starts rambling, and glances at Seungho who is staring back at him with an expression that he can’t seem to properly decipher scrawled across his features. “I don’t want to bring any girls home,” he voices in a semi-complaining tone, “I want to come home to say hi to you.”

 

For a fleeting moment, Jaeduck’s heart leaps in his chest - until he clamps down upon it, suppressing the odd fizzy emotion and dismissing it to his subconscious. “It’s better like this,” he mutters, and his words reverberate in his own ears as a hollow echo, and he’s not quite sure if he even believes himself. “It’s better like this.”

 

Seungho doesn’t speak, and in the moment of quietude that falls upon them Jaeduck can sense the doubtfulness written across Seungho’s tiniest movements. Finally, he lets a sigh slip out of his mouth and queries, “How long before you move out?”

 

_ So I’m really leaving. _

 

It hits him for real then, and he has to suck in a sharp breath of pained realisation before he responds. “Maybe a couple of weeks. I’ve been looking at some places online.”

 

“Oh,” is all Seungho says.

 

“You can come and look at them with me if you want?” he offers meekly, fearing more than anything that their friendship was fraying at the edges, “I won’t move far away from here. I’ll still be close by.”

 

“Okay,” Seungho replies flatly.

 

Jaeduck looks at Seungho, and he can see a reflection of himself - terrified, confused, confounded. 

 

_ I’m sorry for doing this to you. _

 

“We’ll still be best friends, won’t we?” he asks hoarsely with a chuckle that sounds more like a rasp, “Me moving out won’t change anything.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

That night, he knows that both of them are just pretenders trying to find truth in their own words.

  
  
  


“I don’t like any of them,” Seungho declares promptly after following Jaeduck to look at prospect apartment flats in the afternoon. “Why can’t you just stay here? It’s not a problem, and it saves on costs too.”

 

Jaeduck has to force a light-hearted tone. “Might as well appease both of our families at some point, you know. And what’s so bad about them? I liked the second one, it’s nice.”

 

Seungho pulls a face, wandering over to the fridge to retrieve the leftover chicken to warm up for dinner. “There’s nothing wrong with staying here,” he voices stubbornly, “And I thought we said we wouldn’t listen to their opinions if we were happy here.”

 

_ But that’s the thing, _ Jaeduck thinks bitterly as he moves over to set the table,  _ I’m not happy here, I can’t be, not when I’m torn between heaven and hell all the time thanks to you. _

 

“Is this really all about getting married and whatever?” Seungho continues to press as he sets down the chicken, “Are you going to get married?”

 

“No, no,” Jaeduck exclaims, wondering for a moment if his reply came too hastily, before he adds more quietly, “I’ve never really thought about marriage.”

 

“Good,” Seungho mutters half under his breath almost automatically, and for a heartbeat Jaeduck is overwhelmed with bewilderment as he cocks his head at Seungho - the older of the two is quick to explain himself coupled with a sheepish laugh and a, “I didn’t mean it like that, don’t take it weirdly. I just meant that I would feel too lonely if you got married and moved away, you know?”

 

_ I wish you meant it like that,  _ is what crosses Jaeduck’s mind, so he forces on a tired smile and utters out an “oh”.

 

“Anyway, back on the topic of you leaving.” Jaeduck winces, wishing that Seungho would just drop the topic already, but then again the man was once of the stubbornest he’s known, and he’s well aware that his wishes are invalid - proven immediately when Seungho plops himself down into a chair and begins to speak. “What about the dogs? Xanduck and Edworld are  _ our _ dogs, so how are we going to take care of them if we’re in separate houses?”

 

Jaeduck pulls his knees to his chest as he sits opposite from Seungho, fighting to keep a bittersweet scowl off his face - it’s endearing that Seungho is fighting so hard for him to stay. He just wished Seungho was doing it because he would miss him and not his companionship. “It’s not that hard,” he exhales, “I mean, we don’t have a lot of activities nowadays. And all the apartments we looked at are really close to here, aren’t they? I can still bring them out on walks if you’re busy… Or if you don’t want to take care of them alone I can take them in.”

 

Seungho shakes his head in some form of disbelief, glancing at the two dogs who have chosen to clamber atop the sofa, “They’re like our children, Jaeduck-ah, what would they feel if they only had to see one of us every day?”

 

“It’s not like we’re never seeing each other again,” Jaeduck protests.  _ Children are results of love, not friendship. They’re not our children, they’re a symbol of our companionship.  _ “I’m not going to disappear out of your life, you know.”

 

There’s a semi-awkward silence that hangs between them for a while - over the past eight years of his life, Jaeduck has also learned that the two of them are very,  _ very _ stubborn people, a reason why most of their arguments ended up as cold wars - before Seungho concedes, breaking eye contact and muttering out a, “We’ll discuss this some other day.”

 

“Yeah,” he echoes as he reaches for a piece of chicken, “Some other day.”

 

His throat burns as he watches Seungho from the corner of his eye. It’s a daily routine to them, sitting down and eating a meal together, but why does every little movement seem to ache with the despair of goodbye?

 

_ It’s not that I want to leave _ . He continues to eat mutely, fixing his gaze on the patterns of the old table instead of on Seungho in an attempt to stop thinking so much.  _ I have to leave. _

 

_ It’s for both of our sakes. _

  
  
  


“So you’re finally moving out?” Jiwon asks over the din of music playing in the bar, taking a chug of alcohol from the glass placed before him, “It’s about damn time.”

 

Suwon chimes in agreeably, and Jaeduck sighs as Jiwon congratulates him. It was supposed to be a night at the bar drinking with Suwon and Jiwon, nothing more other than their ordinary conversations over the most mundane things over glasses of their favourite beer, but somewhere along the way their topic of discussion managed to find its way to his and Seungho’s long overdue separation.

 

“Yeah, figured I should eventually,” he responds evenly as he takes a drink, the strong liquor scouring the back of his throat, “I mean, we’ve been together for eight years, and literally everyone we know has been pressuring us to move away since forever ago.” 

 

“So Seungho-hyung agreed to it?” Suwon queries, “He’s going to get lonely again.”

 

Jaeduck shrugs as nonchalantly as he can manage. “He’s been arguing about it,” he grumbles in a mild complaining tone, “He’s been trying to convince me to stay, but I do think it’s about time to move out.”

 

“He’s trying to make you stay even when you’re convinced you’re going to move out?” Jiwon chips in loudly in surprise, “Damn, he’s more stubborn than I thought. It’s like you two are a married couple.”

 

Jaeduck is getting tired of all the fake laughs he’s had to perform in the span of the past week.

 

“Not to mention the way you took eight whole years to pluck up the courage to move out even after all your friends and family told you to so many years back,” Suwon teases, “It’s like you’re in love with him or something.”

 

It hits closer to home than he would have liked.

 

_ That’s right. _

 

_ I’ve been in love with him for over half a decade now, and not once has he returned my feelings. _

 

_ So now I need to move out because I don’t ever want to fuck up and tell him that I love him, nor do I want to see him bring any girls home. _

 

_ Yeah, I’ve taken eight years to make this decision even when the whole world was telling me to do it because I was - am - in love with him. _

 

_ You’re absolutely right. _

 

Jaeduck’s throat feels like it’s been set on fire, and it’s not because of the beer.

 

_ And I really fucking wish you weren’t. _

 

He neglects to remember how easy it is for both Jiwon and Suwon to understand his emotions even from the slightest glance of his. After all, they’ve known one another for so long now - by the time he regains his senses and slaps a mask of impassiveness cold and hard over his features, with his heart pounding so loud in his chest he feel it in his head, it’s too late.

 

“Oh my god,” Suwon is the first to speak, while Jiwon sits there and stares with jaw half-open in absolute incredulity and shock, “Oh my god, you  _ are  _ in love with him.”

 

It feels impossibly quiet in the dimming ruckus of the bar.

 

“What the fuck,” Jiwon whispers under his breath, confused and stunned and uncertain all at once.

 

Jaeduck reaches out for his recently refilled glass of beer and pours it down his throat, not caring how much it burns as he slams the empty glass down - how many has it been? He can’t even remember, nor can he think, considering how his world has detached itself from its axis and his head is spinning away from his feet which have gone numb pressed against the unsteady floor.

 

“Yeah,” he states hollowly with a harsh smile frozen across his lips, “Yeah, you’re right.”

 

It is the very first time that he has admitted it to anyone.

 

It’s an oddly relieving feeling.

 

“Yeah,” he repeats for the third time as he steadies himself by reaching out to grasp at the edge of the bar table, “You’re right, but what does being right do? For eight years he’s never once felt the same, and what the fuck can I do about it?” He hiccups. “He’s not in love with me. I’m in love with him. That’s the world for you.”

 

He suddenly feels sick to the stomach, and he’s pretty sure it’s not just the alcohol. “The world…” he exhales, and his tone dies down, tired and resigned, “... The world’s pretty fucked up.”

 

Jiwon and Suwon stare at him, a mix of alarmed and horror on their faces at first, before fading to acceptance, and then pity, and then sadness on his behalf. 

 

“I think it’s time to get you home,” Jiwon murmurs with a long sigh, getting up to pay for the bill. “Go get a taxi, Suwon.”

 

“Yeah, get me home,” Jaeduck whispers, half-present and half not, “Home is good. Home is… where he is…”

 

When he next opens his eyes, he’s outside his own house, bleary and still groggy as he exits the taxi with a soft word of thanks. He’s not the steadiest on his feet yet, but his brief period of sleep has apparently done some good in helping to regain some form of sobriety, enough for him to think clearly enough to key in the passcode and open the door, at the very least.

 

He doesn’t really expect to walk in on Seungho on the sofa of their living room kissing a girl on the lips.

 

He doesn’t expect it at all.

 

So he does the only thing he can think of doing - he opens the door again, clumsy and rushed, and mutters a fleeting apology before he flees the house, half-stumbling and half-running as he exits with his entire world still spinning around in circles, struggling not to trip and fall over his own feet as he slams the door behind him and takes the elevator down to the ground floor.

 

He doesn’t know where he’s going, really, not until his feet hit the street and he almost falls to the ground in a light-headed daze. It’s dark out, the moon wreathed behind unforgiving clouds and the city lights dimming away in the starless city, and as he rounds the corner and allows himself to collapse against the wall where he knows neither pedestrians nor drivers would see him at two in the morning he wraps his arms around his knees and cries himself into numbness.


	3. how painful is heartbreak?

He doesn’t know what time it is, or how long he has been in his slumped position against the wall, when he feels a tap on his shoulder that transforms into more urgent tugs and low whispers of his name. Perhaps it’s two-ten. Or two-fifteen. Or three - when it does happen, he’s too cold and exhausted to even care. In his state of detachment and disorientation, he does not bother to respond to the physical contact, body leaning against the wall and throat hoarse from crying, arms wrapped around himself in a frail attempt to protect himself from the bitter breezes that sweep by every once in a while.

 

“Jaeduck, Jaeduck.” The voice comes in distorted echoes around him, and he shudders at the sudden sound that spirals around his brain and causes it to ache, curling deeper into the warmth of his own body against the unexpected cold of the early morning air. “Jaeduck, turn around and face me.” 

 

Somewhere and somehow, some part of his mind manages to detect the voice as Seungho’s; perhaps his heart knew before his mind did, because at some point after hearing the too-familiar voice his body went slack and he let himself be pulled away from the hard surface of the wall before his mind could even register who it was - a sudden warmth envelopes him, and with a faint glance down at the heather-grey material that he knows too well he’s made aware that Seungho’s hoodie is being draped over his body. “Jaeduck, why are you here? Turn around, why are you hiding your face? Have you been out here this entire time?”

 

Jaeduck can’t find any energy left in him to protest when Seungho grasps at his shoulders and turns him around partially, enough for him to get a glance at Jaeduck’s face, cheeks all streaked with tears and eyes red-rimmed and breath smelling of alcohol. 

 

He’s tired. He’s so tired of being confronted with the sickening reality all the time. He’s so tired of always trailing behind Seungho watching as his smile lights up upon meeting whichever girl he’s going out with while he stands back and wonders dully if a day will ever come where he gets to know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of one of those smiles.

 

It’s, to be frank, excruciating. 

 

He hates every moment of it, he hates the way it haunts him both in his waking moments and in the clutches of his nightmares, he hates the way Seungho is able to drive rents so deep into his heart and mind without ever even realising it.

 

“Jaeduck?” The amount of concern in Seungho’s voice makes him jerk his head upwards in slight surprise, his bloodshot eyes meeting Seungho’s widened ones. “Have you been crying?”

 

“Does it matter?” he asks roughly, getting to his feet as quickly as he can without falling flat to the ground. He ends up stumbling, and Seungho catches him before he makes an ungainly visit to the pavement, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist.

 

Jaeduck yanks himself away from Seungho’s touch as though it were acid.

 

_ I hate you _ , he wants to shout to the one who has ruptured his heart in ways that he never thought possible,  _ I fucking hate you so much because I’m in love with you. _

 

_ Why does life make love so hard? Why is it always so -  _ His eyes are welling up with tears again, and he swallows hard and blinks them away before they can slip down his cheeks.  _ \- why is it always so fucking unfair? _

 

“Why are you out here? It’s cold out,” Seungho murmurs, horrified, and reaches out towards Jaeduck for a second before changing his mind and awkwardly letting his arm drop back to his side after seeing the way the younger of the two swerves away from the notion of physical contact.

 

“Because you were a little busy, so I thought I wouldn’t interrupt,” he snaps back, regretting his frigid tone a little after seeing the shock and contrition flicker into Seungho’s hooded gaze, but he’s cold and tired and lets the alcohol in his system take charge of his (admittedly volatile) emotions. “Pardon me for intruding.”

 

It’s playing back in his mind, everything - of the past eight years, of the girls he’s seen Seungho with, of all the faked laughs and casual brushing-offs every time anyone teased them for seeming like a couple while he stood and watched as Seungho denied it because all along he was always just a friend; of all the number of times Seungho spoke with stars in his eyes about how a woman like Jaeduck would be his ideal type, and all the times that Jaeduck watched and cried wondering why Seungho couldn’t see the galaxy in _him,_ not some imaginary girl who was like him, when he was _right there_ all along. 

 

And yet Seungho never saw  _ him _ , never. It was always some girl who Jaeduck personally could never see anything special in - special enough for Seungho - who managed to get everything he wanted for too many years of his life.

 

Seungho shifts awkwardly and clears his throat a couple of times before he replies. “Yeah, uh. Sorry you had to see that. It won’t happen again.”

 

_ That’s what you said the first time. _

 

It hurts. It hurts all the time.

 

He hates every moment of it.

 

“Do whatever you want,” comes Jaeduck’s listless reply as he shrugs the hoodie off and places it back into Seungho’s hands, ignoring the chill of the night breeze that begins to seep through his clothes and into his skin. He begins to walk, slowly at first to realign his world with reality, and then gradually faster and faster as he regained his sense of physical motion. He’s intoxicated, perhaps, but he still has enough sense in him to realise that he’s going in the opposite direction from his house.

 

He is also sober - or maybe he’s drunk enough - to realise that he doesn’t quite care anymore.

 

“Wait, Jaeduck,” Seungho yells after him, voice raspy in the thin night air, and there’s the harsh  _ pitter-patter _ of shoes slapping concrete as Seungho hurries to catch up to him. “Why are you crying?”

 

Jaeduck lets his body lean against the wall as support, ignoring the way the corners of his eyes burn at the sound of Seungho’s voice alone. “Because…”

 

He trails off and turns to face Seungho, running his gaze over the man’s features - from his messy hair as a result of running, wide eyes and flushed face contorted in a mess of confusion and panic, slightly parted lips breathing cold air and hands clutching helplessly at a crumpled grey hoodie. His heart constricts in his chest, and his breath catches in his throat, and he forgets how to speak.

 

_ Because my heart broke into a million pieces seeing you kissing that girl, don’t you know? _

 

_ Because it hurts, it hurts so much, can’t you feel my pain? _

 

_ Because I’m so fucking in love with you, can’t you see? _

 

“Because,” he rasps, and it becomes painful to speak after choking back the tears that well up in his throat. “Because-”

 

He hiccups, looking at Seungho’s stricken expression through dull red-rimmed eyes, “Because why the fuck not?”

 

“Jaeduck.” Seungho is shaking his head, looking absolutely perplexed at his behaviour, “What’s wrong?”

 

He hiccups again, this time coupled with a short crude laugh that ends up sounding more like a harsh bark than a chuckle, “Everything.”

 

It is silent all around, and his silence carries the weight of a thousand words. It is painful, impossibly so, and it crushes him like a five-tonne boulder being placed upon his shoulders.

 

How can he possibly explain the way his mind is beginning to run away with him at the same time that his heart is being torn in every possible direction all at once? How can he possibly explain the way every little shard of his being is falling apart piece by piece faster than he can hope to pick up? 

 

How can he possibly explain wanting to let go of eight years - and more - worth of memories? How can he possibly explain wanting to leave, to run as fast as he can, and never looking back so that he doesn’t have to hurt quite so bad anymore?

 

How can he possibly explain that everything that could have been right has become so wrong because of the straying of his own heart - how can he possibly explain that his selfishness borne of pain and his selflessness birthed from fear has driven him into a labyrinth that he cannot find the escape to?

 

How can he possibly explain that he is in love with Seungho?

 

“Please leave me alone,” he whispers.

 

His words hold the burden of a thousand silences.

 

He raises his eyes to meet Seungho’s, and he watches as Seungho shatters before him, his eyes wide and lost and crushed, into all the little fragments that he has been trying so hard to let go of.

 

The haunted, stricken expression on Seungho’s face only made Jaeduck break a million times more.

 

Seungho’s lips part, but no words escape him - and then he presses his lips tightly shut, his jaw hard and fingers curling into balled fists against the table as they allow the silence to drown out the thoughts racing too fast in their minds.

 

“Oh,” is all he can utter. “Okay.”

 

Jaeduck looks away, partly because his vision is beginning to go blurry, partly because he doesn’t want to read the mess of shock, regret and broken acceptance running through Seungho’s eyes.

 

_ I still love you, but I can’t. _

 

Seungho stares at Jaeduck’s side figure, committing to memory the way his hair, uncombed, falls against his face and how his eyes shine in the barely-discernible light from faraway street lamps. He looks fragile, uncertain, and so far away.

 

Seungho’s heart aches in his chest.

 

_ Please don’t leave me. _

 

The silence lingers.

 

It is deafening.

 

So they close their eyes to hide their tears and listen to the sound of the silence in order to turn themselves deaf to the sound of each others’ breaking hearts.

 

How painful must heartbreak be, Jaeduck reflects as he listens to the subdued beating of his own heart in his chest, to make him feel so numb on the inside, when numbness is defined as the absence of feeling?

 

Has he felt so much, Jaeduck wonders as he takes in the beautifully afflicted look twisted across Seungho’s face, that he doesn’t know how to feel anymore?

 

And then Jaeduck shoots Seungho one small sad smile, hardly visible in the gloom of the starless night, before he turns his body away and flees, clothes too thin for the chill of the night hanging off his thin frame as he gradually fades from Seungho’s sight.

 

All Seungho can do is watch, lips parted in shock and body numb from the cold aside from his hands which still grasp weakly at his crumpled grey hoodie, standing still in a lonely pavement staring at Jaeduck’s disappearing figure.

 

It is two forty in the morning by the time Seungho reaches the apartment building, and as he steps into the flat he takes notice of how still the air seems, as though the world has temporarily stopped spinning on its axis and all the clocks have stopped ticking. For a moment, it seems as though time has frozen - albeit in the most cruel, lonely and hollow of ways, the way it does when Jaeduck’s gone and everything’s wrong and he doesn’t know what to do.

 

Seungho makes his way over to Jaeduck’s bedroom almost mechanically, twisting the doorknob and flicking on the lights. The bedroom is clean, neatly arranged, with a jacket strewn across the bed and a cap lying fallen on the floor. One object in particular catches his attention - it’s a single piece of paper, lying alone on Jaeduck’s desk.

 

He only realises that he is crying after his teardrops stain the plain white of the property paper, signed at the bottom in obsidian black ink in Jaeduck’s writing.


	4. why didn't you

When he opens the front door twenty-seven hours later, he is met with cold silence. As he removes his shoes and embraces the familiar feel of the floor against his feet, a part of him wishes that the fragile frigidity lingering between the two of them wasn’t so capable of hurting him.

 

Even the dogs don’t greet him; he stumbles numbly over to his own room, dully noting that the door is cracked open just a little, and lets himself plop down upon the sheets that line his bed after flicking on a couple of switches against his wall. The ceiling fan overhead whirs on in a slow fluid motion, the blades going in jaded circles, and the faint current that it generates alerts him to the paper situated on his desk when it flutters to the floor.

 

Jaeduck stares down at his own signature marked in black on the sheet of paper, and he is acutely reminded of his need to leave.

 

_ I have to. _

 

_ I have to… _

 

Jaeduck puts the paper away and collapses onto his bed, succumbing to the pull of sleep that creeps up upon him.

 

By the time he awakens, Seungho is out of the house.

  
  
  


Jaeduck stares at the flattened cardboard boxes in front of him, stacked in a corner of his room. His room. It feels weird to refer to the room as that - it’s simple, smaller than his previous one, and stripped bare of most things aside from necessities such as his bed and a small bedside table. 

 

A shaky exhale makes its way from his lips as he looks at the place, running his gaze from the mahogany-coloured door to the grey-painted bedroom walls. It’s his place now, only his. A weird feeling bubbles up within him at the notion - after all, he’s been living with Seungho for eight years, and it’s been a long time since he’s had a place to call solely his own.

 

He wanders around, pulling stuff out of cardboard boxes still sitting in the rather vacant living room, placing little decorations here and there to rid of the horrendously empty feeling that clings to the house. As he arranges a snow globe on his bookshelf against the living room wall, he tries his best to ignore the part of him that insists the reason for the emptiness is the absence of Seungho.

 

_ It’s for the best _ , he retorts inwardly, busying himself with re-arranging freshly-placed furniture and unpacking more things from the boxes. It has been eight years, and he has been eight years too late in letting go.

 

He never actually got the chance to say goodbye; or perhaps he had been trying to avoid it all along. But in the mass of schedules and of going in and out of the house, they never really got the chance to run into one another - and when they did have the time, they were in their respective rooms. 

 

_ What happened to us?  _ Jaeduck wants to ask,  _ what have we lost, and when? _

 

_ Why are we treading this line like it is a tightrope when it used to be solid ground? _

 

_ Why is it that we are seeing but unseen, close and so far, knowing and not understanding all at once? _

 

_ How has it come to this? _

 

Jaeduck’s throat burns suddenly. It hurts, and he hates it.

 

It is pitiful, he realises, their relationship - eight years and more worth of emotions that he cannot express in words, of thoughts that are buried in his mind, of affections and torn sentiments tossing and turning like waves in a storm somewhere in the crevices of his heart. 

 

It did not fall apart all at once; no, it was perfect once, but the problem was that over the years, as the bond between the two of them strengthened, so did the distance between them.

 

Of course it does not make sense. Jaeduck shakes his head, attempting to focus on rearranging his furniture. How  _ can _ it make sense, when he has tried so hard for the past few years to make sense of what he has been feeling, of what he has been wishing for, of everything that has led to this eventual crash and burn?

 

He remembers the first time that they met, of the shy innocence, still young and untired, the mesmerisation and wonder of getting to know one another, the fascination of meeting someone they thought they’d never meet again. And then the gradual trust and acceptance that took over, the way their newly-forged relationship painted over their individual feelings of loneliness like watercolours splashing bright hues, the colours of flowers blossoming in spring, over a previously ruined artwork. 

 

Then came the recklessness, the wild laughter and bright nights spent with each others’ laughter ringing in their ears, of feelings that they’ve never known before, of silly little pledges of loyalty to one another that they always ended up taking more seriously than they should have.

 

Jaeduck scowls as the small table he tries to set up wobbles a little. It isn’t of the highest quality, and old age has only worn it down more; it is a little uneven on its legs, and at this point he has given up on trying to find a way to stabilise it.

 

The doorbell rings, and he leaves the table, running to the door to open it. Jiwon and Suwon spill in, a bickering mess, arguing at the top of their voices about something Jaeduck can’t even decipher. He sighs, forces a smile onto his face, and clears his throat. They shut up.

 

“So,” he says, gesturing vaguely to the mass of boxes and cluttered furniture behind him, “I just started unpacking, so it’s a bit of a mess.”

 

“A  _ bit _ is a bit of an understatement,” Suwon mumbles under his breath, reaching out to graze his fingers across the same small table that Jaeduck had placed in the living room only moments ago. It wobbles under his touch, and he withdraws his hand at lightning speed. “That’s… Not a very stable table you have there.”

 

Jaeduck huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, I’d suggest not putting anything on it.” He shrugs, eyeing the table - it’s made of cheap wood, with a few highly noticeable chips and cracks here and there; must have done something accidentally over the course of the past eight years that nearly broke the legs of the table. “It’ll probably collapse eventually. I’ll just keep it here for a while.”

 

“So you’ve finally gotten your own place,” Suwon chirps as he wanders around the place, casting a moderately impressed gaze at Jaeduck’s relatively neater bedroom. “Literally  _ everyone _ has been telling you to move out for ages, I’m so glad you finally decided to.”

 

“Yeah,” he echoes hollowly, “Let me show you the kitchen area.”

 

As Suwon explores the kitchen before heading off to the bathroom, Jaeduck turns to face Jiwon. He has felt the leader’s eyes burning holes into the space between his shoulder-blades barely moments after letting the pair into his new house, and he has known Jiwon for long enough to know that there is probably something bugging the man.

 

There’s a brief lapse of silence.

 

“So,” he begins almost conversationally, but at the back of his mind he wonders if Jiwon is able to pick out the way his shoulders stiffen against his own will and the relaxed smile on his face becomes a little less relaxed, “What’s the matter?”

 

Jiwon laughs. It’s crude. “I think I should be asking you that.”

 

The smile drops from his face.

 

“Nothing,” he says flatly, “Nothing at all.”

 

It doesn’t even sound like his own voice to him.

 

And he wishes it did, because maybe then he would be able to trick himself into believing his own words.

 

Jiwon doesn’t press him for more, even though both of them know full well that he’s lying through his teeth. “Oh,” he replies instead, and the conversation stops at that - interrupted by Suwon coming back from the bathroom or because both of them genuinely want to drop the topic, he doesn’t really know, but nevertheless he is glad that the conversation has ceased.

 

That’s the annoying thing about being close to someone, having someone so close to you that you confide everything in them. They just  _ know _ when everything is going wrong, even when you say that everything is perfectly fine.

 

“What other places have I not seen?” Suwon demands as he walks up next to them, eyes energetic from his recent cup of coffee.

 

Jaeduck forces a smile again. “The balcony area,” he responds, “You can check that out, and then help me unpack the rest of the stuff. I’ve been wondering if I should decorate my room a little more.”

 

“Sure,” Suwon replies enthusiastically, and the smile comes a little more naturally. As much as their youngest member can be devilish at times, he genuinely is a sweet friend to have. 

 

“I’ll stay here,” Jiwon says, and Jaeduck cannot fathom why he would want to stay alone, but he doesn’t bother to convince Jiwon otherwise. 

 

As he leaves with Suwon, he can feel Jiwon’s gaze once again rest on him.

 

“So is everything going okay?” Suwon queries, and Jaeduck hopes he doesn’t see the way his whole body tenses just a little. “I mean, you haven’t lived alone in…  _ forever.  _ Doesn’t it feel weird?”

 

Jaeduck chuckles ruefully. “I mean, yeah, it does, but I’ll be fine.”

 

Suwon leaves it at that, and Jaeduck is glad. With Jiwon, it’s always a psychological war - the leader has the odd power to seem to  _ know _ everything, like a mother’s instinct when her child is suffering, and his sharp questioning only confirmed Jaeduck’s suspicions that Jiwon knows full well of some kind of misunderstanding or conflict between him and Seungho.

 

As much as Suwon is his closest friend, he’s glad that Suwon isn’t probing as deeply as Jiwon - they are two people, two very different people, and he knows that he wouldn’t be able to lie to any of them if they pleaded with him to reveal the truth. Only that Jiwon wouldn’t plead, and Suwon would, and Jaeduck knows that if he were to tell Suwon of the distance that had been lodged between him and Seungho, his friend would give him the most horrified look he can muster, and say something along the lines of “You  _ have _ to do something - you have to save it, the relationship.”

 

And Jaeduck does not have the heart to tell him that everything’s gone now, all washed and burnt and broken apart like crushed ice melting into water that dissipates amongst the fast-moving blur of screeching car tyres on the road.

 

They lapse into companionable silence, Suwon stepping out to the small balcony area and taking in the view of the outside from Jaeduck’s window - “not  _ that _ impressive,” he declares with a cheeky smile after a few moments of observing - before proceeding to Jaeduck’s room to unpack everything else and assist him in re-decorating. 

 

_ It’s almost as though he knows my house better than I do, _ Jaeduck observes in wry amusement as he watches Suwon move ahead of him along the corridor to his bedroom. In a way, although being with close friends makes him anxious about any potential cracks they may see in him that he’s been trying so hard to hide, he’s glad for Suwon’s gentle companionship.

 

Suwon is a good friend, he convinces himself as he trails into his room after Suwon,  _ not because I’m trying to take my mind off Seungho. _

  
  
  


A loud crashing sound is what stops Suwon in his tracks midway through re-decorating Jaeduck’s bedroom. “What was that?” he queries apprehensively, and Jaeduck shrugs. It’s a horrible sound, like the groaning of old trees in the wind and the messy, tumultuous sound of a mass of planks collapsing onto one another, ending with a dull clattering sound. 

 

“Stay here,” Jaeduck requests of Suwon, and he’s thankful that his friend complies without asking any questions, “I’ll check it out.”

 

With a weight settling in the pit of his stomach, Jaeduck opens the bedroom door and makes his way over to the living room. Jiwon is standing there, the same place that he said he would stay when Jaeduck followed Suwon, and his gaze, defiant and alight with cold sympathy meets Jaeduck’s the moment Jaeduck turns the corner and steps foot into the room.

 

Next to Jiwon is a mess of broken splinters, made of familiar cracks and patterns engraved faintly in cheap wood. His old, wobbly table that he was considering throwing out since it would be useless to keep around - he supposes now that he doesn’t have to worry about that anymore.

 

“It broke,” Jiwon says simply. His tone doesn’t harbour the slightest fraction of apology, his eyes still burning holes into Jaeduck’s own.

 

“I know,” Jaeduck replies, “It was bound to happen, anyway.” 

 

Jiwon frowns a little, his voice gruff and disapproving.

 

“Then why didn’t you stop it?”

 

When phrased like that, it’s really such a simple question.

 

And Jaeduck realises he doesn’t know the answer.


	5. one more time

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

 

He’s angry. He’s mad. He’s pissed.

 

He can’t even tell what he’s so mad at, but he can feel the heat flooding his veins, coursing through them and setting his blood aflame.  _ You must learn to bite back your fury and hold your temper _ , he remembers someone admonishing him when he was young, perhaps his mother, and he tries his best to do just that, but it only makes it worse.

 

“Damn it!” he yells shrilly, kicking at the spot where the broken table collapsed at (he had disposed of it shortly after Jiwon and Suwon left). “This is frustrating… So frustrating…”

 

_ Why didn’t you stop it? _

 

When he closes his eyes, it all replays in his head like an old cassette tape hidden away in a dark cupboard for too long. Memories that he didn’t remember having until he lost it all, reminiscent to discovering all the tiny gifts and mementos he received from Seungho that he forgot he had until he was packing all his things away to move. Like the photo of them from shortly after military service that’s yellowed at the edges (it reminds him of the days that they were still endearingly shy and awkwardly carefree around one another), or the baby blue polaroid camera with a mini album of polaroid pictures that they had taken together, featuring their dogs (he wonders how they’re doing without him there - do they miss him?), or the little good luck charm that Seungho had gotten him a couple years back even though neither of them really believed in good luck charms;  _ just in case _ , Seungho had told him light-heartedly,  _ you never know when you need some good luck. _

 

_ Well,  _ Jaeduck muses bemusedly,  _ now would be a good time. _

 

The doorbell rings, and Jaeduck moves from his spot in the living room to let Jaijin in. His friend has always been an oddly comforting presence, perhaps because of the comfortable silence that usually falls between them that he can’t seem to achieve with other friends.

 

“So,” Jaijin says upon stepping one foot into Jaeduck’s new house, “I heard from Jiwon that you got into a fight with Seungho.” 

 

Jaeduck sighs, almost expecting Jaijin to throw in a triumphant ‘good’ at the end - after all, amongst his friends, Jaijin was always the most notorious for still preserving a sense of rivalry against H.O.T (and really, no one could tell whether he was joking or not) - but pauses when Jaijin  _ doesn’t. _

 

_ Oh. He’s serious. _

 

“Y’know,” he mutters, words slurred by a slightly heavier Busan accent that he uses around Jaijin, “I called you over to more or less sit in companionable silence with me, not to interrogate me without even greeting me.”

 

“You called me all the way over here to sit in silence with you?” Jaijin asks in a way that sounds more like a flat sentence, shooting Jaeduck a blank sideways look, and then in distant afterthought: “Hello, by the way.”

 

“Well, I don’t know,” Jaeduck groans, throwing his hands up in mild frustration, “All my friends have walked through my door bombarding me with questions about my moving of house, and all the members know about my apparent fallout, courtesy of Jiwon. I thought it’d be nice if you  _ weren’t _ like them, you know?”

 

Jaijin ignores his last statement, instead shrugging his shoulders in a relatively nonchalant manner. “Then why don’t you tell them?” he questions simply.

 

Jaeduck doesn’t know how to respond.

 

Finally, he settles on: “ _ How _ ?”

 

How can he explain when he cannot even understand his own emotions properly? How can he possibly explain it all - this whole big mess - in words?

 

“The truth,” Jaijin repeats, “Tell them the truth.”

 

He shakes his head. “I can’t.”

 

“You can,” Jaijin insists, and Jaeduck momentarily wonders where and how Jaijin is seeing his apparent ability to be able to explain himself when he can’t even realise it himself.

 

“I  _ can’t _ ,” he stresses the last word more, with a more defiant shake of his head. “How can I?”

 

“Just  _ tell them _ ,” Jaijin raises his voice, saying it so plainly, like it is the easiest thing in the entire world, “Tell them of the way that you’ve been in love with Seungho since  _ forever _ , even before you realised that you were. Or how much you’ve suffered trying to be both his friend and madly in love with him while not letting him know that you are, or how you’re moving out because you’re deluding yourself into thinking that maybe this way you’ll fall out of love with him.”

 

Jaijin says it all in the beautifully, painfully  _ blunt _ way that only he can, and a bitter laugh that soon turns into a choked sob leaves Jaeduck’s lips because  _ fuck _ , Jaijin’s right, he’s too right, and now Jaeduck’s shaking his head roughly from side to side as he begins to cry. “You’re wrong,” he breathes out, “It doesn’t work that way. You can’t be right.”

 

_ How can you sum everything up so perfectly when I’ve never told you anything? How can you understand me more than I can understand myself? _

 

“You know I’m right,” Jaijin says as he takes a seat at the kitchen counter, and Jaeduck does.

 

He falls into contemplative silence, and Jaijin doesn’t push him anymore. He moves over to make coffee, wordlessly handing Jaijin a cup which he accepts with a faint nod of his head. 

 

Jaeduck takes a seat opposite Jaijin and stares into his cup. The colour of coffee with milk is pretty, but ugly at the same time, a neutral murky shade of brown, too opaque and too still sitting in the old cracked cup that he took with him when he moved house.

 

Only after taking a sip does he realise that this isn’t  _ his  _ coffee - it’s the coffee he made often when he still lived with Seungho, but it’s not the one he drinks every morning. He made the coffee that he makes -  _ made _ \- for Seungho.

 

Suddenly the coffee burns his tongue and the back of his throat stronger than before.

 

Clearing his throat, he sets down his cup carefully upon the counter, glancing briefly at Jaijin, who is staring into his own cup of coffee and swishing the liquid around mindlessly. “You’re right,” he admits finally, and Jaijin only smiles a little as if he already knew Jaeduck’s answer from the start. “How did you know?”

 

Jaijin shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve known you for over a decade. It’s pretty obvious,” he mutters wryly, “You’ve never seriously dated since forever either, and you know, usually a lot of people our age actively desire marriage, or at least a relationship.”

 

“Why do you have to be so damn smart?”

 

“I’m not, you just make it a little too obvious,” Jaijin remarks.

 

“Oh.”

 

“So when are you going to resolve all your differences with him?” Jaijin asks.

 

“It wasn’t a fight,” Jaeduck defends with a tired sigh, “It was just - I don’t know. Something happened and we stopped talking, and then I left without saying goodbye.”

 

As he speaks, he realises how ridiculous that sounds. 

 

Over eight years of friendship, so easily lost in a few days of stubborn silence, given up so quickly in a bout of mixed feelings by leaving without a word?

 

He doesn’t know what hurts more - the realisation that slaps him across the face about what a fool he’s been, or the painful reminder that while he was the one to leave, Seungho never contacted him either.

 

“That’s okay,” Jaijin voices, sounding almost relieved, and Jaeduck’s voice snaps up in surprise.

 

“How can it be  _ okay _ ?” he exhales shakily, “Everything’s gone. Can’t you see, Jaijin? It’s all gone. I’ve lost everything.”

 

“No, you didn’t,” Jaijin responds sharply, and Jaeduck knows the venom in his tone is attributed to both his annoyance and his care. “It’ll be okay.”

 

“It can’t be,” he says, because he knows - he has been avoiding the thought of Seungho for so long, even though his name, his face, everything about him plagues Jaeduck in every dream and nightmare and in every waking thought; it is not because he wants to erase Seungho from his existence, but because - 

 

His breath hitches in his throat.

 

Because - 

 

“It will be okay,” Jaijin repeats himself, and Jaeduck’s resolve, his thoughts, everything he has tried to build up in his mind over the past few days crumbles down again, like the table that Jiwon shattered to pieces.

 

It is not because he does not love Seungho anymore. (He still does, even if he tries to tell himself otherwise.)

 

It is because he no longer wants to yearn for someone who he never had.

 

“You’re right,” he forces out, seeing Jaijin’s expression growing more relaxed, “Maybe we can start over again.”

 

Jaijin slams his palm on the countertop, making Jaeduck startle at his violent objection. “No, you’re misunderstanding me,” he half-exclaims in exasperation, and all of a sudden Jaeduck feels like a child again, confused and innocent, being chided by his mother for an accidental mistake.

 

“If you went without saying goodbye,” Jaijin explains, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world to understand, “Then it never ended.”

  
  
  


Jaeduck pours the coffee down the sink. Watching the brown liquid go in lazy swirls against metal before disappearing altogether is oddly satisfying, in a way. Jaijin has left, returning to his own house for lunch, and Jaeduck hasn’t been doing much for the past while aside from contemplating Jaijin’s parting remarks.

 

_ Who am I kidding?  _ He wonders as he plops back onto a kitchen chair,  _ I guess I really am fooling myself by moving out, huh. _

 

It doesn’t take away the fact that Seungho did not contact him.

 

It makes him wonder why, even when he knows he shouldn’t.

 

He’s too scared to know the truth. He’s too scared to probe further, in case he discovers what he’s always feared the most: that he never ever mattered that much, that he wasn’t worth the effort, or that Seungho had given up hope before everything even broke down.

 

Sometimes, he wishes that he could call Seungho on his phone (he still has his phone number memorised by heart, of course he does, how could he ever forget?) and listen to Seungho scream at him in the endearingly caring way he does, tone filled with vexation and worry and panic, let Seungho rant at him and take out all his anger on him.

 

Maybe it would have been better if they fought, even if they don’t have anything to fight over, instead of this brutal cold war, Jaeduck reflects. Maybe then if Seungho lost his temper and lashed out, then Jaeduck would have a reason to shout back, to cry, and to blame him for all these terrible feelings.

 

It’s a selfish thought.

 

But it’s confusing now, wrapped up in this silent war that erupted out of absolute nothingness; precipitated by a night that went too wrong, an argument filled with points that carried no logic, and then a cold horrid separation that lasted far too long. Now he has no one to blame, now he doesn’t know who is right and who is wrong - are they both in the wrong? Is it solely his fault? - and now he doesn’t know which way to run, left or right, to delve headfirst into the labyrinth, to reach out and grasp hold of Seungho’s wrist and pull him back, back to where they should be  _ together _ , to burst forth and slip through the confining walls back to the place he recognises as his home, or to hold back and wait for the path to clear, to linger and see if Seungho will come to him.

 

But he is scared, too scared to act. 

 

What if he runs, and Seungho isn’t there to catch him when he bursts through the front door?

 

He’s too afraid to fall.

 

And what if he stays right where he is, and Seungho doesn’t come for him?

 

He doesn’t want to be alone.

 

He doesn’t want to lose Seungho.

 

He doesn’t want to say goodbye.

 

_ So run,  _ his mind tells him, even though his heart is being torn into different directions all at once,  _ and if you fall, then at the very least, one last time you will see him. _

 

_ And he will see you. _

 

It is the day that Jaeduck learns how to pick himself up.

 

It is the day that Jaeduck learns how to run.

 

And it is the day that Jaeduck takes flight.


	6. because

The path back home is familiar. So, so familiar.

 

He wonders if Seungho is home.

 

_ He has to be. _

 

For a moment, he wonders to himself - has he gone completely insane? Is this a terrible idea? Is he going to make a fool of himself and worsen it all?

 

He remembers Jiwon’s frigid expression, standing over the unsteady wooden table he knows Jiwon broke on purpose. 

 

_ Then why didn’t you stop it? _

 

_ Why didn’t you stop it from crumbling down?  _

 

He wonders what it would be like if he never left: Would they still be living in a cold, awkward silence? Or would they have resolved all their problems by now?

 

_ If you went without saying goodbye, then it never ended. _

 

If he doesn’t run, then who will?

 

Maybe he was the reason for this whole mess, this confusion that rose from nothing to everything all at once, a mixture of miscommunication and property documents and broken hearts.

 

_ Then I’m the only one who can fix it. _

  
  
  


His fingers remember the six-digit passcode better than his brain can. Before he can finish cycling through his increasingly apprehensive thoughts of  _ what if he changed the password,  _ he’s interrupted by the soft familiar click of the door opening.

 

His hands linger on the cold metal, trembling lightly, and he doesn’t know if he is able to find the courage in him to swing it open.

 

_ Because… _

 

_ What if he tells me to get out? _

 

_ What if he looks at me like I’m a ghost, like he’s never known me when he’s all I’ve ever known? _

 

_ Because what if he never cared? _

 

His breath catches painfully in his lungs, and he doesn’t think he can open the door.

 

He doesn’t have to.

 

It opens, slowly at first, and he lets go of the handle just in time to prevent himself from stumbling forward. It opens fully, and he’s met with Seungho, clad in a loose white tee, a haunted look written across his face and his lips parted as though he wants to say something but has nothing to say.

 

It has been so long.

 

“How did you know it was me?”

 

“Because it couldn’t have been anyone else,” Seungho replies, the words drawn out of his mouth slowly, like he is in a trance, in a daydream that he hasn’t quite awoken from yet, like he has seen the hallucination of his imaginations coming to life before his eyes. “How could it have been?”

 

Jaeduck exhales.

 

_ You’re right. _

 

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, watching the emotions reflected in Seungho’s eyes range from confused to bitter to hesitant.

 

“For what?”

 

“I left without a word,” he answers with a shrug, “I moved out and left behind eight years’ worth of… friendship.”

 

Seungho huffs out a small chuckle. “Yeah, it kind of sucked.”

 

There’s a flurry of nails against wood, and then both dogs rush up to Jaeduck, their tails wagging hard and their tongues lolling as they greet him with excited yaps. He reaches down to pat their heads, and a wave of twisted rue sweeps through him. How could he have considered deluding himself into forgetting about all of this?

 

“Are you coming back?” Seungho asks, and Jaeduck freezes, because he’s never actually asked himself that.

 

“I don’t know.” He realises that he’s being terribly honest. “I mean - do you want me back?”

 

Seungho begins to shake his head slowly, and Jaeduck’s heart almost stops beating in his chest, because for a moment he actually believes that Seungho is going to tell him  _ no _ and ask him to get out of the house. 

 

“I never wanted you to  _ leave _ ,” Seungho tells him, and a breath that he doesn’t know he’s been holding escapes him.

 

“Can I ask you a question?” Jaeduck queries tentatively as he follows Seungho past the entrance of the house.

 

Seungho nods.

 

The question falls past his lips before he can think of a proper way to phrase it. “Why didn’t you try to stop me?”

 

“Because I knew it would happen,” Seungho replies, and it’s a simple answer.

 

“Oh.”

 

“You said you wanted to leave,” Seungho elaborates as he takes a seat on the arm of the couch, “And I knew I couldn’t stop you. How could I?” He smiles, a small bittersweet smile. “Maybe it was because I was trying to trick myself, too.”

 

“What do you mean?” he asks before he can prevent himself from doing so.

 

“So I could forget about you,” Seungho says, “The way everyone’s been telling us to part from each other. I thought that if you left forever, then maybe my heart would detach itself from you.”

 

_ It’s impossible,  _ Jaeduck wants to tell him aloud,  _ It’s impossible, because I’ve tried it, and yet here I am in front of you. _

 

“You’re kind of infuriating,” Seungho laughs, suddenly looking ten years older as the dark circles under his eyes seem to appear darker and wider than ever, “I’ve tried so many things to delude myself into thinking you don’t mean as much to me as you do.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he protests faintly, even though he understands all too well, “What’s wrong with meaning a lot to you?”

 

Seungho’s eyes are dark, solemn, plagued with the same emotions that Jaeduck himself has been struggling with for too long. “Not in the way you think,” he replies with a crooked smile, “In a worse way. A way you can’t understand.”

 

“Are you sure?” Jaeduck murmurs quietly, and Seungho falls silent. “What if I can understand?”

 

Seungho’s gaze tells him that he does not understand.

 

So Jaeduck begins to speak, to explain - of his own story, of Seungho’s story, of how different they are and yet of how they are exactly the same, of how all they see are one another and yet they are so blind to each other.

 

“Is it in the way that makes you feel like shit when you’re going out with a girl because you’re just trying to delude yourself into thinking that maybe that’ll make you happy?” Jaeduck asks, the emotions he can’t comprehend weighing heavy in his voice, “Is it in the way that makes you wonder why you turned out like this, and why out of everyone it has to be  _ you _ ? Is it in the way that you feel so scared, so fearful, so anxious and yet so ecstatic every time you’re with the one your heart wants to be with that you wonder if you’re supposed to feel like being happy is a fucking crime?” 

 

His voice cracks at the end, and Seungho lets out a wavering breath.

 

“Yeah.” His tone is rough, bitter, resigned. “You’re right.”

 

“You see,” Jaeduck whispers to him, “I understand.”

 

His voice begins to take on a slight tint of wonderment.

 

“How?”

 

“Can’t you  _ see _ ?” Jaeduck says breathlessly, “I love you.”

 

Seungho is silent for a long, long time. And then, “Say it again. Tell me you love me.”

 

Jaeduck laughs. “I love you,” he repeats himself, a little louder this time, “Why couldn’t we see it all this time?”

 

And then Seungho begins to laugh, the tears that are reflected on Jaeduck’s cheeks making their way down his own. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, “I’m sorry for all these years.” 

 

In his expression holds all the words he can’t quite get out -  _ I’m sorry I took too long to know,  _ or maybe  _ I’m sorry I caused all your pain _ , or perhaps  _ I’m sorry I never replied all those times you told me you loved me, I’m sorry I wasn’t awake to hear, I’m sorry I wasn’t sober enough to notice. _

 

Maybe it’s the  _ I’m sorry it took this for this to realise,  _ maybe it’s  _ I’ve been so scared and I didn’t realise how much I was hurting you. _

 

“God, we’re so broken it’s funny.” Jaeduck shakes his head. “Don’t you wish that it didn’t have to come to this to realise? That we didn’t have to hide from each other? It’s been eight years, Seungho-hyung. It’s been eight fucking years.”

 

Seungho smiles faintly.  _ Yes, _ his smile reads.

 

_ It’s been eight years, and it fucking  _ hurts _ , it hurts so much. _

 

“Y’know,” Jaeduck says wistfully as he takes a seat next to Seungho, “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if you confessed to me, and I could reply like all those couples do in the TV shows.  _ ‘Don’t you know?’,  _ I want to say that,  _ ‘You can have me. You’ve always had me.’  _ Wouldn’t that be nice?”

 

“We can always play pretend,” Seungho offers.

 

Jaeduck’s gaze softens. “We’ve been playing that for too long,” he responds softly.

 

“But reality hurts.”

 

He doesn’t know what’s stopped them all these years - was it really the public? Their disapproving gazes, their burning words? Or has it been their fault all this while? That they were too hesitant, too scared, not quite brave enough, even now?

 

“If we could hide away, I would’ve found a way by now.”

 

Playing pretend is getting tiring.

 

At least now, they no longer have to put on their masks around one another.

 

Jaeduck takes solace in that sole fact.

 

_ Because I love you. _

 

Seungho sighs.

 

_ Because we can’t hide away, and now we’re stuck. _

 

_ Because I love you, and you love me - now I know that - but where can we run when there will always be people watching? _

 

_ Because it’s too late now, enough of running and playing pretend. _

 

“Please come back home,” Seungho says.

 

_ Because even if we have to live in this reality, I’d rather spend it with you. _

 

“Of course I will.” Jaeduck reaches up, his fingers brushing the tears lingering on his cheeks.

 

Seungho wipes away his tears on his sleeve. “Please stay with me.”

 

“Always.”

 

_ Because I love you. _

 

“I’m in love with you,” Seungho blurts out.

 

And through the tears that are running down his face, Jaeduck laughs. 

 

“Unfortunately, I’m in love with you, too.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand that’s a wrap!

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed the first chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> twitter


End file.
